


Where No One Goes

by Ambrosia



Category: Strange Magic (2014), Strange Magic - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia/pseuds/Ambrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She presses him further into the dark shadows, where even Marianne’s brightly-colored wings can’t be spotted. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s holding her tiny hands with his huge ones. Bog blushes and tries to brush it off as something that he’d normally do. </p><p>Even though it isn’t. At all. Holding hands is not something the Bog King would ever, ever do. Ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where No One Goes

“Heeeey, Bog,” Marianne calls. She drops fast through the air and hides behind his sharp skin. “I’m not here.” 

“You’re not?” Bog says, confused. “Where are you currently not-being?”

“Not _here_ ,” she tells him. He can see her bite into a berry over his shoulder. “I’m not in this place, right where we’re standing. I am in the grand hall of the Fairy Kingdom.”

Bog pauses for a moment, letting his wings sink him to the mossy floor in the entryway of the Dark Forest. “Of course.”

Marianne unsheathes her blade and sticks the remaining berry she had on the point of it. She offers the tip to Bog, who scoffs and takes a small piece between his fingers.

“Aw, Bog,” Marianne says. “You act like you aren’t happy to see me.” 

She runs a finger down the tip of his pointed nose. “Happier when you aren’t crashing through windows, actually,” Bog manages, but he can feel the heat rising to his face either way. 

Marianne laughs. “Are you blushing? I’ll go tell the mushrooms—”

“No!” Bog insists, “Let’s not.”

Marianne snorts and Bog is reminded that he is, weirdly, happy to see her. Rebuilding the Dark Palace has consumed most of his time. But every time he does get a moment to himself, and when Marianne manages to escape, it’s like his tongue ties itself in a knot. 

“What are you even doing here,” Bog asks, finally. “I thought you had some big to-do in the Fairy Kingdom.” 

“That’s cause I’m not here, remember?” She pauses, leaning on his shoulder, even though her butterfly wings let her hover a foot above him, always wanting to be the taller of the two of them. It trades off, because on the ground, he towers over her. “I’m still with the council, in the grand hall.” 

Marianne nods at him like she’s trying to convince him of the truthfulness of this statement. It doesn’t work. 

Bog hears the incoming flap of wings and watches as Marianne must start hearing it too, because the color drains from her face. She grabs Bog and hauls him upwards with her wings, and Bog lets his dead weight drag her downward, but still, Marianne manages to get them back into the shadow of the Dark Forest. 

“What’s wrong,” Bog teases. “It’s not like you to hide, tough girl.”

“Shhhhh, shut up,” Marianne whispers. 

She presses him further into the dark shadows, where even Marianne’s brightly-colored wings can’t be spotted. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s holding her tiny hands with his huge ones. Bog blushes and tries to brush it off as something that he’d normally do. 

Even though it isn’t. At all. Holding hands is not something the Bog King would ever, ever do. Ever.

And Marianne doesn’t even notice. 

“Whew,” she says, stepping back out into the light. Bog gets distracted by the magenta glow her wings give off in sunlight. Not as much of an effect as in the moonlight, not so very long ago, but still eye-catching. “I think they’re gone.” 

“You know,” Bog suggests. “If you were, erm, just looking for some private time, I do have a mostly functional throne room, by now.” 

Marianne smears a half of a berry against his shoulder, grinding it in with her tiny hand while Bog laughs. She tries to flutter just out of his reach, but Bog pulls her back down by the ankle and into the shadows again. 

He examines her closely, only for the first time noticing that her hair seems tidier than usual, her fancy light-fairy clothing even fancier. He deadpans, “Your father is holding another Sunrise Ball, isn’t he?”

Marianne’s shoulders slump. “Yessss, by the dark night,” she says as she scuffs her boot against a rock. “Dawn’s beside herself.” 

Bog only realizes that somehow they are still in each other’s space, and that Marianne looks comfortable in his space. They aren’t even sparring, ‘cause that was different. All bets were off when they sparred. But now it was just— she was in his space, with him, and she looks perfectly content, in his space. 

With him. 

“You could come with me,” she suggests mildly, wiping a berry seed from of the corner of her mouth. “C’mon, we could break the chandelier like last time.” 

Fond memories of their first spar fills his head, and for some stupid reason, makes him stupidly happy. Regardless of the fact that Marianne had shattered his spider-glass ceiling and destroyed most of the furniture. 

He raises his eyebrow, turns, and starts immediately walking back toward the rotten oak that they’ve carved into his new fortress. 

Marianne darts ahead of him and stops squarely in front of his face. “Please.”

Bog shakes his head. “No.”

“C’mon,” Marianne says, flying around to his other side.

“ _No_ ,” he insists, hiding his laugh with a scowl. “Your father can barely stand the sight’ta me, let alone my ever-looming presence in the background.” 

“ _Bog_ ,” Marianne calls after him. “Almighty Bog King, is anybody in there?” 

Suddenly Marianne is both directly above him and upside-down. Bog swallows, remembering the last time they were like this— something about _you make my heart sing_ , but still, he knows Marianne well enough to know that at this point, all hope is probably lost. “No.” 

“It’ll be great,” Marianne says. “You’ll scowl, I’ll probably hit somebody, you’ll probably try and stop me from hitting somebody, I’ll probably break something, probably the chandelier.” 

“Do you have something against this chandelier you keep mentioning?” 

She flips over so that she’s right-side up again, “It’s an awful chandelier, and deserves a good breaking.” 

“I see,” he says.

“Bog.”

“Yes?” Bog asks, his face innocent.

“C’mon, Bog,” Marianne begs. “For me?” 

“Oh, for you?” Bog asks, leaning in close again. “…No.” 

“Bog.” 

“Princess,” he replies, not intimidated by the way that she hovers both above him and directly in his face.

Marianne narrows her eyes and after a moment of glaring, she opens her mouth wide and starts to sing. “Sugar pie, honey b—”

“No!” Bog says, clamping his spindly hand over her soft mouth. “No, _no_ , if I never hear that song again, my ears will still be ringing.” 

He pulls his fingers back just in time for Marianne to make chomping noises with her ridiculously dull light-fairy teeth. 

“I hate you,” Marianne says fondly. 

“I hate you, too,” Bog says, and he finds he means the opposite. 

But Marianne floats down a bit, more to his eye-level. Still floating, she wraps her arms around his neck for what must be some sort of display of affection that Bog isn’t too familiar with. In fact, it reminds him of Dawn during the Plum fiasco, but less ‘under potent magic spell’. 

But he finds himself clinging to the incredible warmth that Marianne generates. He may not have noticed, before, but compared to him, she’s like a fire. 

“Okay,” Marianne sighs. “I just flew all the way out here just to see your pretty face,” she grabs his chin. The comment a year ago, even six months ago, would have hurt him, but something about the way Marianne’s eyes sparkle keep that hurt at bay. “I gotta scram before they really notice me missing. Buh-bye, _Boggy-woggy_.”

“Bog,” Bog corrects automatically, without thinking.

He’s left alone for a moment, Marianne darting off backwards like lightning towards the Fairy Kingdom, but a beat later she’s back with a hungry kiss for his lips. Bog’s eyes nearly go cross-eyed but the moment that he shakes himself awake and is ready to return it, Marianne is gone with a mischievous smile.

He’s left there for several moments, struck dumb and mouth hanging wide open, a hazy fog over his thoughts that start with ‘Mari’ and end with ‘anne’. 

With a regretful, lingering smile, Bog turns away from the light and takes his staff in his hands again, and heads farther into the dark. 

“By the sun-cursed Staff of Bitter,” Bog swears not even a second later and stops in his tracks, putting his head in his hands. He can already feel himself caving by some strange desire to see the smile on Marianne’s face should he _actually_ show up in the grand hall of the Fairy Kingdom. “How has this become the life I’ve lived?”

His reputation as the Bog King is already in shambles, his mother is besides herself, already planning names for their children. What harm could crashing one more party do?

He turns back around in the direction of the Light Kingdom, resigned, but a nearby mushroom is staring at him with a look on its face. Bog does his best intimidating face and says, “If you utter so much as a _word_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this movie messes with you, man. Like okay, I've written some weird stuff, but if you had told me a week ago that I'd be writing this
> 
> I woulda been very skeptical  
> [tumblr](http://www.valorious.tumblr.com)


End file.
